


In Deep

by Bdoing, mademoisellePlume, Vinnocent



Series: Heroes and Wolves [12]
Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Episode: s03e07 Currents, F/M, Fake Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Needles, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 17:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2118735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bdoing/pseuds/Bdoing, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mademoisellePlume/pseuds/mademoisellePlume, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vinnocent/pseuds/Vinnocent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott and his friends scramble to prevent more deaths as the darach begins to sacrifice healers. What they find, however, is the last thing they expected, and Melissa finds herself haunted by the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Tide

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it took so long to put the new fics up here. I've had an unfortunate combo of poor signal and poor health. I'll be catching up as much as I can.

“Okay, keep pressure on it. The doctor's on her way,” Melissa instructed a woman with a bleeding wound in her stomach as she helped wheel her through the hall. She turned toward the mass of scrambling hospital workers. “And does _anyone know where **Dr. Hilyard** is?_ ”

Relinquishing the woman to another staff member, she turned to see her son enter with clamshell box of takeout food. “Oh, thank God.” She went to greet him, immediately grabbed the food, and turned toward the nurse’s station. “I'm starving.” After a moment, she realized that she should probably actually address him. “Oh! I'm sorry,” she said apologetically. “I'm sorry. Thank you for bringing me dinner!”

He smiled at her and gave her a hug. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

She nodded then turned to the chaos behind her. “Except for the fact that half the accident victims in a ten car pile-up are being rerouted here from downtown, and the E.R. attending is not answering any of his pages?” she told him. “Yeah, I'm okay.”

Scott squinted at her, confused. “What does not answering pages mean?” he asked.

“It means,” she told him, “that nobody can find him, so we have to wait for the on-call to get here.”

At that moment, a crying woman hurried up to Melissa, trying to get her attention. “Miss?!” she pled, and Melissa spun toward her. “Excuse me, can I kind of please have something for the pain?”

Melissa took a deep breath and nodded sympathetically. “Okay, I'm sorry. I know,” she assured her. “But, actually, giving you something could complicate things, so…” She glanced at her son, then helped the woman back to her seat. “We really just need to wait for the doctors. Okay?” As soon as she had the woman sat, she turned back to the trauma room receptionist. “How much longer on Dr. Hilyard?”

“Ten minutes,” the receptionist told her.

Wanting to help, Scott shyly snuck over to the crying woman and took the seat next to her. “Uh,” he said, trying to figure out how he was going to explain this, “you know… I think that I read online that sometimes human contact can help with pain?” She nodded at him, but she didn’t really seem to be understanding what he was saying.

Slowly, Scott reached over to the hand clutched tightly on her leg, and he held it and concentrated. He felt her pain seep in through his hand, seep through his flesh, his bone, and into something deeper. Something with a greater capacity to handle it.

And then… it was gone.

The woman gasped in relief. Then, she looked around, confused. And _then_ , she looked at him with disbelief. He wasn’t quite sure what to tell her; he knew his excuse had been terrible. But at that moment, a familiar voice rang out.

“SOMEONE! SOMEONE HELP ME!”

Scott turned to see Ethan carrying Danny, who was panting and in obvious pain and could hardly manage to stay upright. Ethan looked around the hospital wildly, desperately. “I NEED HELP!”

Melissa hurried forward and helped Ethan get Danny into a chair. “Okay, gentle, gentle, gentle!” she instructed, easing Danny into the chair as he cried out in pain.

Scott grabbed Ethan. “What did you do to him?” he demanded.

“ _Nothing_!” Ethan snapped, stepping up to Scott angrily. “He said he was having chest pains and trouble breathing, but it…” He turned back to Danny. “It just kept getting worse!”

“This is not good,” Melissa muttered with her hands feeling Danny’s neck as he started hyperventilating. She stood up and called out to the desk. “How much longer on Dr. Hilyard?!” But the receptionist could only gesture helplessly that she did not know.

Melissa crouched over Danny again. “His larynx has shifted to the side,” she told them. “I think it's a tension pneumothorax.”

She hadn’t finished her statement before Danny launched forward and vomited profusely. They all stared in disbelief. Danny had vomited up a large handful of mistletoe berries along with a milky white substance.

“Mistletoe…” Ethan said, and he looked like he was realizing something. Scott turned to him, confused. Did this make him more or less guilty? What did he know about the mistletoe poisonings? Was there a connection between Ethan and the darach?

Moments later Melissa was wheeling Danny into an exam room, and Scott and Ethan still hadn’t left his side, much to Melissa’s irritation. “Can you two _please_ go back to the waiting room?” she begged.

They did not.

“Where are the nurses and the doctors?” Ethan demanded, apparently unaware that he was speaking to a nurse, despite the scrubs. “Where is everyone?”

Irritably, Melissa explained, “It’s a full house tonight. They’re attending to other patients.”

“Okay, well,” said Scott. “Mom, how can _we_ help?”

Her chest ached. Why did she always have to surround herself with heroes? “Scott, honey, you _can’t_ ,” she said as gently-yet-firmly as possible. “His lung is collapsed. His heart is being pushed against his chest cavity, so…”

Scott felt on the edge of tears, helpless. “He’s going to die isn’t he?” he asked, and Ethan turned to him like he’d spat out the worst thing ever, and he supposed he had. All the power, everything that the bite had given him… What was it if he couldn’t save Danny?

Melissa looked at him, and she knew… She knew there was no way in the world she could allow that to happen. Quickly, she looked around to make sure that no one was around to see. She did not, technically, have the training or experience or station to do the procedure that Danny needed. But no one who _did_ was available at the moment, and Danny needed it _now_.

“Scott, you grab the tape.” She pointed to Ethan. “ _You_ grab those scissors and cut his shirt open.” From a nearby drawer, she pulled out a large syringe. She did her best to steady Danny and clean the area she needed to aim for. He was now gulping desperately, unable to take in air.

“Mom, he’s not breathing!” Scott cried, panicked.

“I know,” she said. “I know. Okay.”

Sometimes, her job at the emergency room felt like war, and, if there was anything that Melissa knew how to handle, it was war.

She shoved the syringe into Danny’s chest. His left pectoral, to be exact. A needle thoracostomy. She opened the valve in the needle to let air escape and relieve the pressure in Danny’s chest.

His breathing returned to normal, and she carefully removed the large syringe, which Scott stared at, briefly, with wide eyes. All three waited in anticipation. Finally, Danny opened his eyes and looked at her and managed to croak out a tearful thank you.

“No problem,” she told him, grinning in relief. She suddenly realized that the teenagers across from her were gaping at her. “What?” she asked.

“That was awesome,” Scott said, his voice and expression filled with awe. Ethan nodded in agreement.

“It was, uh, no problem, you know?” she claimed, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “It wasn’t a big deal.” She couldn’t keep the grin off her face, though. Joy and gratitude at the fact that she’d been able to make such difference for someone. To turn a tide. To matter.

Scott was much less relieved, later, when Ethan found him just he’d been about to head out from the hospital. Ethan put his hands up to show his harmless intentions, not that it meant much from an alpha werewolf. “I know you're not gonna believe me,” Ethan said, “but I didn’t do anything.”

Scott scowled and told him, “All I know is that the minute that you got here, you went right for Danny, and your brother went for Lydia.”

Ethan nodded. He couldn’t deny that. “We’re not gonna hurt him,” he assured Scott.

“Why should I believe you?” Scott demanded.

Ethan leaned forward over Scott’s bike. “Because we knew one of them was gonna a be important to you,” he admitted, “and now we know it’s Lydia.”

But they were interrupted when an SUV slowly weaved its way into the parking lot and down the row toward them before stopping in the bumped of another car. Scott and Ethan exchanged glances, then both ran toward the SUV.

Inside, there was nothing but a moth.


	2. The Flow

When Melissa woke up the next morning, she was alarmed to find that she was not alone in her room. She was then irritated to realize that her intruders were merely Scott and Isaac, passed out in the far corner, Scott collapsed into her favorite armchair, and Isaac curled around a decorative pillow and drooling on it.

“Really, boys?” she asked.

No response.

“Boys!”

Isaac and Scott leapt to their feet, looked around, and then looked at her. Their expressions slowly melted from “What happened?!” to “Oh shit, we’ve been caught.” She stared at them without amusement. “What do you think you’re doing?” she groaned.

“Uh…” said Isaac, hands tightening nervously. “We were watching over you.”

“We wanted to make sure you weren’t the third healer sacrifice,” Scott explained. “The darach already took two last night from the same hospital you work at.”

Melissa nodded, still a little groggy. “But… both of you were asleep,” she said.

Isaac bowed his head and rubbed at his neck as Scott tried to think back. Slowly, Scott turned toward him, realizing, “You were on watch last.”

“What are you talking about?” Isaac said. “You were on watch last.”

“No,” said Scott. “ _You_ were on watch last.”

Isaac turned sheepishly to Melissa. “I might have been on watch last,” he admitted.

She couldn’t help but laugh. “My heroes,” she boasted. “But the sacrifices were all doctors. I haven’t had an ‘M.D.’ recently attached to the end of my name, so I think I’m in the clear.”

“But, it could be any kind of healer, Mom,” Scott pled. He couldn’t help grinning as he said, “And you were definitely a healer last night.”

“Yeah, welp, I’m not going to be anyone’s human sacrifice today,” Melissa said. “So the both of you: Get your butts to school.”

\-- --

“Hey,” Boyd said, grabbing a blonde’s arm. Then… “Nope, wrong girl. Sorry.” Angrily, the girl pulled her arm away from him and stalked off.

“Boyd?”

Boyd spun to face Erica. He grinned victoriously, and she couldn’t help blushing. “There you are!” he greeted her. “Have you seen Iiii… _zek_! Have you seen Isaac?”

Erica raised an eyebrow. “You feeling okay?” she asked. “With our connection, you should be able to tell where he is at such a short distance.”

“Oh, well… um…”

“Hi guys,” Isaac said, letting himself fall against the locker doors with a half-hearted grin. “Miss me?”

“Always,” teased Erica.

“Yeah,” said Boyd. “Uh, look, who’s up for skipping class?” They both looked at him with surprise, and he shrugged. “I have an idea,” he told them.

\-- --

Scott was staring.

“Good morning, class. As you all know, your teacher, Mr. Harris turned up dead a couple days ago. I’m here to take his place. My name is Mr. Metzger,” said Tyler. “But I prefer you call me Tyler. I’m not trying to be cool with you; I just don’t like my surname. Or ‘mister,’ actually…”

Jayde raised her hand, and Tyler peered at her like she was some kind of strange insect. “I don’t remember asking for questions…” he said.

“Aren’t you the one who pulled Mr. Harris out of school?” Jayde asked anyway.

“Yes,” Tyler said, rolling his eyes in irritation. “Because I knew that Harris had a military connection, and I had heard that the killer was on a military theme at that point. So, I thought I would warn him. Rightly so, as it turns out. Anyway, I’ve already been interviewed by the police, there is camera footage of him leaving my house without me, and at the time in which they believe he was killed, I was busy not killing him at the bank in the longest line _ever_. It would not have been humanly possible for me to do it. Satisfied?”

The class nodded.

Tyler turned his attention to Harris’s desk. “So, anyway, since Mr. Harris didn’t plan on being dead today, he didn’t leave any lesson plans, and we’re going to have to do the best we can. Life lesson: Always plan ahead. Really, kid?” he demanded as Scott pulled out his phone.

“Uh…” said Scott. “It’s my boss. He knows I’m at school, so it might be an emergency.”

Tyler rolled his eyes again. “Whatever,” he said, flipping his hand toward the door dismissively. “Take it outside.”

Scott nodded, embarrassed, and quickly exited the classroom. “Hey, Doc,” he said as soon as the door was closed behind him. “Sorry, I’m in class right now. Can I call you back later?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Deaton answered back. His voice was tense, worried. “I honestly thought I might never have to burden you like this... But, I’m afraid, at the moment, you’re my only hope.” Scott could feel his stomach tying itself in a knot. No. No, not Deaton. This wasn’t happening.

“I’m going to be taken,” Deaton told him. “I need you to find me.”

Scott didn’t bother excusing himself from class or to even retrieve his backpack from the classroom. He just took off running.

\-- --

Boyd, Isaac, and Erica all arrived unexpectedly at Derek’s loft with Boyd lugging a heavy duffle bag. “Go back to school,” Derek ordered them from the stairs, unamused by whatever stunt they were pulling this time.

“Well, actually, we can’t,” said Isaac. “You see, the three of us are incredibly and unbelievably sick.”

“Food poisoning,” said Boyd. “We will never eat at that diner again.”

Erica nodded solemnly. “We have all learned a difficult lesson today about always checking the health ratings.”

Boyd walked under the spiral staircase and smirked up at Derek in a decidedly un-Boyd-like manner. “We’re here to protect you,” he told him.

Derek snorted at that and stood up. “You’re here to protect _me_?” he demanded, descending the stairs. “Well… I’m in trouble, then.”

“Actually,” Isaac said, sitting on Derek’s desk and flipping through a book there, “Boyd, here, came up with a plan.”

“Yeah,” Boyd said. He moved over to Isaac and dropped his bag on the desk. “I was thinking about that hunter technique. Where they push electrical current through you to restrain or hurt you.” He unzipped the bag and pulled out a large coil of thick electrical wires. He also had a hose. “And I think I figured out something even better.”

Erica took the hose and walked over to the other end of the loft, where she attached it to a spigot there. Meanwhile, Boyd explained, “In a pool of electrified water, it can take up to fifty milliamps to kill a normal human. Less than the power it takes to turn on a light bulb.”

“That’s… comforting,” Derek said, repulsed by the thoughts that swam through his mind. He turned to Isaac, but Isaac looked unfazed.

“If we disable the circuit interrupter in the building's electrical room, the current will keep coming,” Boyd continued. “And anyone who steps foot in here will probably get dead. Definitely if they’re barefoot.”

Erica turned on the water.

\-- --

Of course, by the time Scott got to Beacon Hills Animal Clinic, Deaton was gone. Present were Sheriff Stilinski and Deputy Graeme, having been called by Stiles when Scott didn’t return to class. It hadn’t been hard for him to guess the “healer” connection with Deaton. By the time Scott had finished answering their questions, Stiles had arrived, and, for once, the sheriff didn’t bother demanding that Stiles leave the scene and return to school.

The sheriff’s request, “Tell me everything,” still rang in Scott’s ears, even after they’d been dismissed. Stiles started to head for the door, but instead, Scott pulled him into the cat clinic. “We have to tell him,” he told Stiles as soon as the door was closed.

Stiles stared at him. “You mean, like, _tell him_ tell him?” he asked, disbelieving. “Or tell him something else that isn't telling him what I think you want to tell him?”

Scott nodded. “You know what I mean,” he said.

Stiles refused. “You remember how your mom reacted?” he demanded. “She didn’t look you in the eye for like a week.”

Scott glanced aside. “Cassie said…”

“Cassie the lying abandoner?” Stiles demanded angrily.

“Well, even then, Mom got over it,” Scott insisted. “And… And I think it actually made us closer. Now she knows what’s happening with me.”

Stiles glanced out the little window in the door of the cat clinic to watch his dad on the other side, talking to Deputy Graeme and looking completely haggard. “I don’t know, dude. I mean, look at him.” He gestured toward the window. “Come on, he’s completely overwhelmed as it is.”

“That’s _why_ I want to tell him,” said Scott. “He’s overwhelmed because he’s only got half the information. What Braeden told him isn’t enough. Tell me that you really don’t think the darach’s attacks are tied in with _any_ of the werewolves _at all_ , and I will drop it.”

Stiles bounced nervously.

“Stiles…” said Scott. “Isn’t he going to find out sooner or later?”

Stiles scowled. “Yeah, but is now really the right time?” he demanded.

“What if not telling him now gets someone else killed?”

“What if telling him gets _him_ killed?” Stiles countered.


	3. The Wave

As the sheriff followed behind the corpse being taken to the hospital morgue, Melissa ran to catch up with him. “Hey!” she called out, and he slowed his pace for her to catch up. “It’s Dr. Hilyard, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Stilinski admitted quietly.

“Oh, God,” Melissa hissed. She took a breath and continued. “Okay. Did she have ligature marks around her throat?”

The sheriff stopped. “No,” he said a bit more brusquely. “How do you about that?”

“I work here,” said Melissa, shrugging.

“Usually not in the morgue,” he reminded her.

“Surprisingly, that doesn’t seem to really matter,” she said.

“Melissa!” he snarled through his teeth. “Is the constant interference from Scott and Stiles not enough?”

Melissa put her hands on her hips determinedly. “I think I have a lot more to contribute to this than Scott and Stiles, and if you'll come look at the other body with me, I’ll prove it to you.” She took a deep breath and told him, “I think I know how they both died, and I think it’s going to help you find Scott’s boss.”

In the morgue, Melissa pulled out the drawer containing the first dead healer. “The problem with no ligature marks around the neck is that both doctors were still asphyxiated,” she explained. “So, the question is…”

“How did they suffocate if they weren't strangled and didn’t have their passages obstructed,” Stilinski finished.

Melissa nodded. “Right.” She leaned forward and pulled back the sheet and pulled up the dead man’s hand and arm. “Now, take a look at the wrist marks. What do they tell you?”

“That his hands were tied,” said Stilinski.

“Not _just_ tied,” said Melissa. “Look how deep these go. I don’t think that’s just from struggling to get free. I think he was suspended. I remember Eva explaining crucifiction to me. That when you were hanging on a cross, it wasn’t the wounds that killed you, like many people these days think. It was because you were being suspended by your arms, and, to breathe, you had to keep lifting yourself up. When you ran out of the strength to lift yourself, you asphyxiated and died.”

“Eva…” the sheriff repeated. He turned to her with a scowl she didn’t quite understand. “Eva Vela? _Governor_ Eva Vela?”

Melissa swallowed, unsure of what she’d caught herself in. “Yes?” she said. “Scott’s dad used to assist her. She used to be close to us. I thought you knew.”

“I’d forgotten until just now,” he said irritably. “Melissa, I’m not trying to accuse you of anything, but the fact that Vela and Sosanya get themselves involved _just_ before this all started and our biggest lead is from Vela’s daughter gets me a little wound up when I realize that maybe she’s even _more_ connected.”

“She’s not,” Melissa assured him. She put the sheet back over the corpse and returned it to its cabinet. “I haven’t spoken to her in six…” Then, suddenly, she turned to him. “Did you say _Sosanya_?”

“Yeah, Cassandra was on scene when Isaac Lahey and Braeden Vela fled the hospital,” he said.

“I know, but…” Melissa said, wringing her hands. “That doesn’t mean--"

“Eva Vela then temporarily shut down the security system to prevent them from being caught on camera doing so, allowing Braeden and Isaac to later claim that _my_ people told them they could go, and then _she drove up in her town car and picked Cassandra Sosanya up from the front entrance_ ,” he snarled.

Melissa looked at the floor. She took deep breaths, trying to regain her voice. “I did not know that,” she admitted quietly.

“Melissa… I know it’s not my place, but sometimes I’m concerned about the people that come into your life,” he told her.

She nodded. “I can see why you would be,” she admitted. “But… I know it’s difficult to understand, but I would much rather have lackluster people… than no people.”

The sheriff rubbed the back of his neck. “I think you might be surprised how much I understand that,” he admitted.

Melissa glanced up at him and forced a small smile. “Oh, come on,” she teased. “Stiles isn’t _that_  bad.”

\-- --

Scott scrambled up the stairs of the Argent house after Allison as she continued explaining, “So, I was looking through one of his drawers and--"

“Allison?”

They froze in place. Slowly, they turned to face Agrona Argent, just stepping out from a room at the head of the stairs. Of course, Scott didn’t recognize her at all, but the context was clear enough to guess. Her eyes combed over him before moving on to her granddaughter. “Is there a reason that you’re here with a strange boy in the middle of the school day?” she asked.

“It’s not the middle,” she said. “More like the tail end…”

Scott stuck out a hand awkwardly. “Hi, um, I’m Scott,” he introduced himself awkwardly.

She gave him a peculiar look but shook his hand. “Agrona Argent,” she said. She looked between them. “I thought you were broken up?”

“We… we still talk,” Allison stumbled.

Agrona frowned. “Allison, you don’t need to sneak ar--"

“ _I’m_  sneaking?” Allison demanded angrily. “What about you and Tyler?”

Again, that peculiar look. “What about me and Tyler?” she asked.

“I…” She hesitated, uncertain, but she was already so close. She swallowed her fear and said, “I saw you and him talking after Mr. Harris left our house.”

“I know,” said Agrona. “I assumed that if you had an interest in the matter, you would ask.”

Allison gawked at her grandmother. “Just _ask_?” she repeated.

“That is usually how people communicate,” said Agrona.

“Why were you looking for Cassie?” Scott asked.

Agrona scoffed at the idea. “Looking for Cassie?” she repeated. Scott was surprised by how offended she sounded. “I’m looking for my _son_!”

“Uncle David?” Allison said. “Grandma, he disappeared twenty years ago.”

Agrona took a sharp breath and forced her jaw to unclench. “And at what point would you want me to stop searching for you?” she asked.

Allison ducked her head, adequately chastised.

“As open as I am to answering your questions,” said Agrona, darting glances between them again, “I have a feeling this isn’t what you came here for.”

Allison and Scott exchanged guilty glances. Finally, Allison admitted, “There’s a secret map on Dad’s desk where he’s been tracking the murders, but there are extra body sites marked,” she said. “Scott’s boss has been taken by the killer. I thought Dad’s map might help him find him.”

Agrona nodded. “Yes, Chris had a hypothesis regarding telluric currents,” she told them. “He wasn’t yet comfortable revealing anything, because it’s considered a pseudoscience and could mark him as a suspect. But if you think it can help…”

“I’ll try anything,” Scott told her desperately.

Agrona nodded. “Of course,” she said, motioning for them to follow her down the hall. “Come along. I’ll explain the map to you.”


	4. The Crash

“Scott, wait! We can help!” Agrona insisted as she and Allison followed Scott out of the house. “We have the resources!”

“You have helped,” he assured her. He threw a leg over his bike. “But all I have to do is go get Deaton. There’s still a pack of alphas out to murder my friends tonight.”

Agrona and Allison exchanged glances, and Allison held her breath. Agrona wasn’t just a hunter. She was the matriarch of the Argent family. Surely, the idea of two packs fighting to the death appealed to--

“Then, we’ll help with that,” Agrona volunteered, her voice solid and certain.

Yet again since her grandmother’s return, Allison felt hope, love, and pride swell inside her chest.

\-- --

Sighing, and wishing he’d brought a book for the long part of “sit around in Derek’s dark, wet loft,” Isaac lifted his head and looked around the room again, wondering when the alphas would make their promised appearance. That was when he noticed it. The light on the alarm box. “Isn’t that supposed to be on?” he asked, pointing.

Derek stood for a better look. He swallowed, and his heart rate began to increase. “Yep,” he said.

“What does off mean?” asked Erica.

He glanced down at his betas. They shouldn’t be here. They could die here. All because some alpha out there had it in for him. “Someone cut the auxiliary power,” he told her.

Boyd looked up at him. “Yeah, but what about the main--" But at that moment, _all_ the electricity went out in the loft, and the betas jumped to their feet on their dry platforms.

Sensing the difference, Derek stepped out into the water. Nothing happened.

“That is a really stupid way to test that the electricity’s off,” Erica said.

Derek ignored her and walked out across the flooded floor into the main body of the loft.

“Derek?” Isaac called after him. “What do we do now?”

His glowing red alpha eyes stood out like beacons in the darkness. “We fight,” he said.

And then the doors swung open, and Kali stepped in. “Gonna be honest, Derek,” she drawled. “When Ennis died, I thought to myself, ‘I’d just go for it.’ Find you and kill you, wherever you stood.”

Derek stood there, water soaking into his boots, and stared at her in confusion. Ennis? Was Ennis dead? How was he supposed to be responsible for that?

She continued, walking inside, “Then, I remembered how you surround yourself with these _teenagers_ , hiding behind them, and I thought, ‘What’s a girl got to do to get you alone?’”

She turned back to the doorway, and Derek followed her gaze. In the dim moonlight, Derek saw the twins haul in a bound and panic-scented Braeden Vela. Their claws were pressing into her throat, ready to kill her at a moment’s notice.

Kali smirked. “You and me Derek, or they tear her apart,” she said. “What do you say? You think you can beat me one on one?”

He hadn’t a fucking clue why Kali thought he cared about the well-being of Braeden. But… she had saved his betas twice. He owed saving her at least once. And he definitely wasn’t going to let Kali win easily.

Besides… if he let Kali’s fallout hit on _any_ uninvolved person, Scott would probably never shut up about it.

Derek gestured for Erica, Boyd, and Isaac to retreat. “I’m gonna rip your throat out,” he promised Kali. “With my teeth.”

\-- --

This…

This was not what Scott had expected.

He kind of wished he’d let Agrona help him. Maybe _she_ wouldn’t just stand there, staring like a fool as the hologram of his boss crackled and fizzed, revealing beneath it what looked to be a metallic dog. A metallic dog which was starting to come apart at the hinges.

It… he… it? Deaton was being held suspended by the wrists by thick, heavy cables. The sort of cables that one might be used to hold wrecking balls. To his feet was connected a massive weight. Like… truly massive. It was, in fact, far more impressive than the robot it was attached to.

Around the whole room were… Scott didn’t know. But they were large panels of coiled wires. And they were active. He could feel the electricity pulsing through the room, and he was pretty sure that had nothing to do with his lycanthropic abilities. The panels also featured LED meters, and they were about eighty percent lit. Whatever the panels were, they were almost done doing their job.

 _It’s a three-fold death,_ Scott realized, though he couldn't see the third part yet. He started looking around desperately for some solution.

“Sc- tttt*t*t*t”

Scott turned back to Deaton. It… _He_ was looking at him, watching. Both the hologram and the form beneath. The form beneath… Scott peered closer, trying to ignore the holographic image. Looked at the real Deaton.

There was something _on_ him. Like he had been splattered in paint. Or… mud? No. What _was_ it?

“Tht tht tht tht thrrrrrr tht tht thrmmmmm”

Scott looked up at Deaton’s face. His real face. “I don’t understand what you’re saying,” he said.

“THT THT THT! THRRRRRRRRMT!”

Scott shook his head, panic rising in his throat. “There has to be a way,” he said. “I can’t let you die! I can’t!”

“G g g g g g*g*G*G*g*ggG g g g”

Scott shook his head. “No.” He looked around again. There had to be _something_. Maybe if he got closer…

It was like walking straight into a brick wall. Mountain ash. A circle of it on the floor, surrounding the entire set up. And there was nothing outside of the circle that could break it.

“No,” Scott moaned, disbelieving. “NO!”

\-- --

“NO!” Braeden screamed as Kali, yet again, kicked Derek straight to the floor.

\-- --

Following Scott’s instructions, Stiles, Lydia, and Cora raced toward the loft, but Stiles couldn't be sure they’d get there in time.

\-- --

Scott pushed against the energy wall as hard as he could. He had to get in! He had to help Deaton! He had to stop this! He had to save him!

He pushed, and he pushed. He was vaguely aware of the fact that he was screaming in pain, but he still threw everything he had into it. He didn’t care if it killed him, if there was even a chance that he could…

The energy burst and threw him back onto the floor. “No!” Scott shouted, tears running down his face.

“What. the. FUCK.”

Scott turned. There, standing before the sight of Scott and the slowly dying robot in the middle of the bank’s main vault, was Sheriff Stilinski with his mouth hanging open.

Scott was crying. “Please!” he begged. “It’s going to kill him!”

Sheriff Stilinski looked at Scott. Then, at Deaton. Then, at Scott again. Then, at Deaton again. And finally, yet again, at Scott. “Stay here,” he said. “Guard him.” Then, he ran out.

Scott swallowed nervously. “Please,” he begged Deaton. “Please try to hold on. Please.”

A few moments later, the electricity turned off.

\-- --

 _Now_ , said the text, and Isaac raced across the wet floor toward Braeden. Erica ran to back him up, but Boyd grabbed her and swung her into the wall of the drier alcove. Just as Isaac escaped the water, the electricity turned back on, zapping Boyd, Kali, and Derek and distracting the twins enough for Isaac to pull Braeden safely away from them.

Angrily, Kali turned to the twins. “TAKE HIM!” she ordered, and they rushed forward to pin Derek in place, crouched on the flooded floor. They held his claws out, and he tried to fight them, but he didn’t even really understand what they were doing.

In a moment, he would.

\-- --

It was a long time before the sheriff returned. Once he did, he had a blowtorch in hand. The hologram had steadied somewhat, but the image hadn’t changed. Deaton had said nothing the entire while. Luckily, when Stilinski walked up to Deaton, he broke the line of ash.

“What if he’s dead?” Scott whimpered.

“I’m not a robotics expert,” the sheriff said, looking Deaton over nervously, “but I assume that whatever ‘dead’ is for him, it doesn’t include an active hologram.”

Scott turned to him, watching the hand holding the blowtorch more than the sheriff himself. “What are you going to do with that?” he asked.

“Thhhhrmmmm…” said Deaton.

“Oh, thank God!” Scott gasped, running to Deaton's side.

But the sheriff was starting at Deaton. “What is he saying?” he asked.

Scott shook his head. “I… I don’t know. I thought he was warning me earlier,” he said.

The sheriff looked around at the wired panels, somehow not trusting them to stay dead. “Warning you about this?” he asked.

“I think it’s another three fold death,” Scott explained. “The panels… I think they were depowering him. Which is like asphyxia, I guess. And then the weight, that’s pulling him apart, which is the blow to the head? And then… I don’t know. I thought I saw something coating him, but now the hologram is hiding it.”

“Th*th*thhhh*hh h H h h rmmMMm…”

The sheriff turned back to Deaton. “Doc…” He groaned and rubbed his face. “Jesus fucking… _Doctor Deaton_ , can you hear me? I… I need to turn off your hologram.”

Suddenly, the hologram’s eyes were open, staring back at him, and the sheriff jumped back in surprise. But then, the hologram turned off. The sheriff’s eyes flew wide open, and he recoiled in horror. Then, he spun toward Scott. “Scott, get out of here!” he ordered.

“What?” Scott shook his head, confused and frantic. “No, Sheriff, you’ve gotta--"

“Scott, I know,” Stilinski said, grabbing his shoulders. “I _am_  going to save him. But I think that stuff coating him is thermite explosive. ‘Volatile’ doesn’t even _begin_  to cover it! I will do _nothing_  -- jack. shit. -- with you in the danger zone. Am I understood?”

Scott stared at him.

“NOW, SCOTT!”

Scott backed away a step, but then shot another worried glance at his boss. “What are _you_  going to do?” he asked the sheriff.

Stilinski turned back to the hanging robot, inspecting it carefully. He took a deep breath and said, “I’m going to aim very carefully.”

\-- --

Derek couldn’t speak. Couldn’t shout. Couldn’t move. All he could do was stare at the boy on the end of his claws.

“BOYD!” Erica screamed, and she ran to him. He made a pained squeak as she pulled him off Derek’s claws.

And yet…

The way Deucalion had explained it, he should have felt something. Boyd’s power should have flowed into him. In fact… now that he thought about it… Boyd had never wolfed out.

He shook his head. He didn’t understand _anything_. What the hell was happening? How was he going to fix this? Was Boyd really about to die? He stared at Erica, helpless as she cradled Boyd and whimpered over him. Begged him not to die.

“Yeah, trying not to,” Boyd mumbled, putting as much pressure as he could on the wounds. “Could use a little help.” It took Erica a moment to realize what he meant, and then she dropped him into the shallow water and shoved her hands down on top of his.

Kali was already headed toward the door. “You have until the next full--"

“HANDS IN THE AIR OR WE SHOOT!” Of all the things that night that had been unexpected, the Argents were probably top of the list.

Kali roared.

The oldest, a woman in maybe her sixties with red hair in a more believable shade than that of Victoria Argent, took aim and shot Kali in the shoulder with a rifle. Flanking her was Chris Argent with a pistol crossbow, Allison Argent with a compound bow, and Tyler with a drawn pistol and some kind of plastic-bodied gun in a holster at his hip. The sound of footfalls grew closer as more hunters began to swarm the apartment complex and the surrounding area.

Cradling her shoulder, Kali shot the twins a look. Then, she ran and jumped out the window. When Ethan started to follow, a bullet whizzed by his skull, causing both him and his brother to hesitate. “I’d rethink that, kid,” said Tyler.

And then, the room went white. Boyd, Erica, and Derek were swallowed in a glow much like the one that had appeared in the bank vault, and they weren’t the only ones present there. “Oh thank god,” Boyd said, pulling Erica’s hands off of him. “I thought I was going to have to demorph in front of everyone or bleed out on the floor.”

“Erica!” shouted… a _second_  Boyd? He ran forward to her from the side of a suddenly present Ms. Morrell. The second Boyd ran to Erica and grabbed her up, burying his face in her hair, while the bleeding Boyd began to melt away. His black skin lightened until it was white. Blond hair grew out of his head and fell down over his shoulders. His body mass reduced. His face changed significantly. Age lines began to appear.

“What the _fuck_?!” Derek screamed.

“I’m sorry,” Ms. Morrell said, “but there wasn’t time to explain it to everyone. When I discovered Boyd’s idea for attacking Kali and the alphas, I knew that it would not work. And yet, if she believed she had gotten repayment for Ennis’s death, there was the possibility that we could get Kali to back off for a while. In addition, I calculated that the capture of Braeden, as opposed to killing her, meant that she likely believed Braeden was _your_  emissary and would use her to control you, giving us an opportunity to rescue her.”

“So you tricked us all?” Derek demanded. “Made us believe that Boyd was going to die?!”

“No, actually,” said Erica. “Just you.” He turned back to her, and she shrugged. “Isaac and I figured out she wasn’t Boyd in like five minutes,” she said, gesturing to the older blond woman now standing from the floor, her wounds completely healed. “She is the worst actor ever and has _no_  idea how to werewolf.”

The woman shrugged. “This isn’t _usually_  how I’m asked to use my ability,” she confessed.

“I understand that you have questions,” said Morrell. “But the Argents were an unexpected variable. I cannot have them find Loren here or know that morphers were involved. I’m afraid that Boyd needs to get on the floor in the position that Loren left so that I can drop this hologram and escape with her without notice. In repayment for your cooperation, my brother will address your questions.” Concern flickered across her face. “Assuming that Scott’s recovery of him was successful.”

Boyd frowned down at the water-covered floor. “But Loren was bleeding out,” he said.

Morrell walked toward him. Stopping in front of him, she reached out and touched two areas on either side of him with only the tips of her fingers. “Kali threw Loren onto Derek’s claws,” she explained. “If Derek wounds you in _these_  areas at only an inch deep, it can be believed that Kali missed puncturing your stomach and that you have already begun healing.”

Boyd looked at Derek then. He made a face. “No offense, Derek,” he said, “but I’m beginning to regret my decision to join you.”


	5. The Ebb, part 1

Erica, Boyd, Derek, Isaac, and Cora all stood together at one end of the large freight elevator of a supposedly abandoned warehouse. On the other side of the elevator was Lydia, Stiles, Scott, and Allison. In the middle was Braeden Vela. At the very back, taking deep breaths with his arms crossed over his chest, was Sheriff Stilinski, next to Melissa McCall.

Braeden pressed a button, and the doors closed in front of them. The elevator began descending. “The things you are about to see and are about to be told are of the utmost secrecy,” she told them. “If ever you pass this information outside of those currently present, then _no one_  will ever see you again. Am I clear?”

“Is that what happened to my uncle?” Allison asked, arms crossed over her chest.

“No,” said Braeden. “David Shepherd was never introduced to them.”

“‘Them’ who?” Derek demanded. “You, Deaton, and Morrell are all current or former emissaries. Why are you keeping secrets _from_  us? You’re supposed to _help_  werewolves, not conspire against them.”

Scott shifted nervously. “I, uh… I don’t think that Deaton and Mor--"

“They are emissaries,” said Braeden. “But they’re not like me. Human emissaries like myself have become rare. It’s been a long time since the time of the druids. However, seeing the need for emissaries and knowing that they had the technology to impersonate emissary techniques, many of the Chee took up the role. Enough to ensure that _every_  pack had at least one.”

“Every pack of _werewolves_?” Sheriff Stilinski repeated.

“Yes,” said Braeden.

“What is a Chee?” Cora demanded.

“What’s an emissary?” Melissa asked.

"An emissary is someone with the knowledge and techniques to defend and advise werewolves," Braeden explained. At that moment, the elevator finally jolted to a stop, and, with the smallest hint of a grin, Braeden told them, “And these are Chee.”

The doors opened, and, for a moment, nobody moved. They just stared.

It was a park. A beautiful, wide, somehow sunlit park. If it weren’t for the elevator shaft and the dark rock walls in the far distance in every direction, it would have been unbelievable that they were underground. There was vibrant green grass. Blue skies. And maybe as many as a thousand dogs running happily among upright, canine robots. Dogs of every breed, mutts included. Dogs of every age. Dogs of every size, every color. Dogs missing tails or legs or eyes or ears. Dogs in doggy wheelchairs. Dogs that could barely move except to slightly thump their tail for the robots patiently hand-feeding them and endlessly petting them. Every single dog imaginable.

“What the fuck,” said almost everyone in the elevator.

“Actually,” said Lydia, nodding and wagging a finger at the scene before her, “this explains a _lot_.”

“ _This explains **nothing**!_ ” the sheriff insisted angrily.

“Come on,” said Braeden, stepping out of the elevator. “Deaton’s this way. They’ve nearly repaired him.”

“What do you mean ‘nearly’?” asked Sheriff Stilinski. “He was at the clinic this morning.”

“He was?” said Scott.

“No,” Braeden said, as she led them across the park. “That was Chee Riwil, taking his place until his recovery. The Deaton you know is Chee Qojon.”

“They all named ‘Chee’?” asked Stiles, looking around at the surrounding robots.

Braeden nodded. “In their language, it means ‘Friend,’” she explained. “It’s part of their name because it’s their sole reason for existence.”

“To be friends?” said Sheriff Stilinski.

“To be companions and entertainers,” said Braeden. “Their creators, the Pemalites, were a fun-loving, peaceful culture. They designed their companion robots to be playmates of all people… and nothing more. Nothing else. They believed there was no greater purpose.”

“So… that’s why they love dogs so much?” asked Boyd.

Braeden stopped and the groups stopped behind her. She hesitated, then looked around to make sure there were no very close Chee before taking a deep breath and turning to Boyd and the others. Quietly, she told them, “These dogs, engineered from the native wolf, are all that remains of the Pemalites, who originally looked similar to these Chee. They were destroyed by the Howlers, and the Chee fled here. Dogs were the best they could do to save their creators. They are no longer sentient, no longer the same, but… the ‘spirit’, if you will, remains.”

“Man’s best friend,” Allison whispered, looking around, and Braeden nodded.

“But dogs have been around for thousands of years,” said the sheriff.

“Yes,” said Braeden. “This all happened shortly before the rise of ancient Egypt.”

The sheriff shook his head. “You want me to believe that a culture _that_  ancient could make…” He gestured around them.

Braeden bowed her head briefly. “Mr. Stilinski, I think you misunderstand,” she began.

“They’re aliens, aren’t they?” Melissa demanded, her lip curled slightly and her jaw clenched painfully tight. “From another planet.”

Braeden nodded.

“God…” Melissa hissed, shaking her head. She stepped away from the group. “ _Fuck_.”

“Mom, are you okay?” Scott asked, going over to her.

“I just… I can’t…” she hissed. Melissa rubbed her temples, trying to stem an oncoming stress headache. Tears were beginning to well in her eyes. Scott didn’t understand her reaction, but he pulled her into a hug anyway.

“I understand what you’re feeling right now,” Braeden began.

“ _How_?” Melissa demanded, spinning toward Braeden and pushing Scott aside. “How could you _possibly_  understand?”

Braeden’s compassionate smile held a sharp edge of pity. “How do you think I know Eva?” she asked. Melissa was taken aback by that, and Braeden continued. “My parents served Visser One. I can just barely remember them, and I’m no longer even sure whether the memory is real or my imagination. But when I try to sleep at night, I still remember Eva, covered in red blood and yellow-green gore, shooting her way through a line of Taxxons just to save us. To save me. Because she wanted to take responsibility for Edriss’s actions.

“Trust me. I, too, look at the sky and fear what could come again,” Braeden said. “But these people…” She gestured around her. “They’ve been here thousands of years. If they wanted to hurt us, they’ve certainly had plenty of time. They can’t. Their programming would never allow it.”

“Actually,” Deaton interrupted as he approached the group with Morrell at his side. “It seems that may not be entirely true.”

Braeden’s eyes widened. “What?” she demanded.

“Miss Sosanya came to me, after she was attacked,” said Deaton. “She said that her attacker had flickered.”

Braeden shook her head. “That just means a hologram was involved,” she said. “You’re far from the only hologram users.”

“Yes, that’s what I told her,” said Deaton.

“But I’ve been considering it anyway,” said Morrell. “Running calculations. Of course, my only suspect was Chee Yoyor, currently known as Erek King.” She raised a hand and another hologram appeared next to her of a man about Melissa’s age. He looked vaguely similar to the photos of Jake Berenson.

“I went to school with him,” Melissa gasped.

Morrell nodded. “He was an ally of the Animorphs,” she explained. “His first work with them was the recovery of a Pemalite crystal.” Erek disappeared and in his place was shown a floating crystal, about the size of a grape. “Unfortunately, the mission went awry. The Animorphs were on the edge of death and could not demorph to heal themselves without revealing their identities, endangering their families, and potentially allowing their capture -- a possibility they held to be worse than death.”

Deaton nodded. “So Erek reprogrammed himself with the Pemalite crystal so that he could be capable of violence. In only a few minutes, he destroyed all the enemy persons involved in the battle. He saved the Animorphs at the cost of other lives. Grieving this decision, he programmed himself back but has never fully reconnected to Cheenet, our internal network, in order to prevent sharing the memories of the incident with us. The Pemalite crystal was deposited in the Pacific ocean.”

“Since then,” Morrell continued, “the larger Chee community has, understandably, found all his motivations and actions suspect. Especially since we cannot directly connect to him to see his processes for ourselves. To explain the matter in your terms, his actions and subsequent disconnect make it difficult, if not impossible, to be empathetic toward him.

“However, Erek King is under the supervision of the Chee who plays the part of his father,” Morrell explained. “He has been accounted for at the times of all the murders, and it could not have been him. This left us with no other Chee capable of breaking programming, and we believed that it was either a human emissary using holographic technology to hide themselves or to impersonate us, or a different entity altogether, using darach methods to create suspects of the emissaries.”

Derek shook his head. “I don’t get it,” he said. “Then, why do you now think a Chee did it?”

“Because I saw her,” said Deaton. “I had plenty of opportunity to view and analyze my attacker.” In a similar manner to how Morrell had done moments ago, he raised his hand and a secondary hologram appeared. This one was of a Chee, like those around them in the park, but much of its surface was melted away. In some spots, it was damaged so badly that inner workings had been exposed. “This was my attacker. Her name is Chee Qezek. We had thought her dead,” he explained. “This is the last Cheenet record we have from her…”

Suddenly, the park disappeared. They were standing in the open kitchen of someone’s house, looking out into the living room. Sitting on the couch was a young woman. She looked stressed, grieved.

There was a knock at the front door, and the woman’s head snapped up, alert. She ran to the door and swung it open. “Kali!” she cried, looking relieved.

Kali said nothing. She entered the house, shoving the woman back out of her way and turned to shut the door. Her face was blank, expressionless. She seemed to be running on automatic. She was holding a metal pail of something.

“Kali, I don’t know why you did what you did,” the woman pled. “I don't understand why you would kill them. Your own pack. They were practically family. But I love you.” Kali made a face of disgust at that, but the woman didn’t seem to notice. “I want to understand. I want to help. I am certain… if you let me, we can find a way to--"

Kali opened the pail and threw its contents -- some kind of powder -- onto the woman.

She hesitated. She looked down. “Kali… this is thermite…”

“I know,” said Kali. She pulled a small box of matches from her pocket.

She looked back up at her, fear and betrayal in her eyes. “Kali, what are you doing?” she asked, her voice small, uncertain and scared.

Kali lit a match on the side of the box. “I think, Julia,” she said with a malicious sneer, “that we should break up.”

She threw the match. There was a blinding flash, and the hologram ended abruptly, throwing them back into the park.

Derek groaned. “She’s after Kali,” he realized. “The alpha pack came here after me, and she came looking for them. The darach-style murders are to call Kali out.”

“Actually,” said Deaton, “We no longer believe that Deucalion is after you.”

Again, the park disappeared, this time to replay a hologram of Deaton’s near-death. Scott almost turned away, not wanting to see Deaton in that condition again. But then, he saw himself. He saw himself screaming as he pushed against the wall of energy, trying to enter the ash circle. What he saw chilled him to the bone. “That… that’s not possible,” he gasped.

“I don’t understand,” Melissa said, looking back and forth between Scott and the hologram of him, which kept replaying on repeat the brief moment in which his eyes had turned red. “What is this?”

“When did you become an alpha?” Erica demanded.

“I didn’t!” Scott insisted. “I would never--! I don’t want to--!”

“A true alpha,” Derek whispered, eyeing the hologram.


	6. The Ebb, part 2

“What?” Stiles demanded, look around at them all wildly. “What the hell is a ‘true alpha’?”

“It’s rare,” said Deaton. “It’s something that hasn’t happened within the last one hundred years, but every once in a while a beta can become an alpha without having to steal or take that power through violence and murder. They call it a true alpha. It’s one who rises purely on strength of character, by virtue, or by sheer force of will.”

Melissa glanced at her confused son and pulled him into her arms. “Yeah,” she said. “That sounds about right.” But Scott clutched at her waist uncertainly.

Cora made a face. “A true alpha would grow to be far more powerful than your usual alpha,” she said. “Why would Deucalion recruit someone into his pack that could usurp him as leader?”

“Because, as we’ve recently discovered, he’s not actually _recruiting_ them,” said Morrell. The hologram changed again, and they were in the animal clinic. Ennis, with multiple gunshot wounds across his body, was laying on an examination table. Deaton was inspecting him. Deucalion walked in. Morrell explained. “The alphas were able to escape Vela’s mercenary-staffed raid, but Ennis, whose tactic for retaliation had been to throw himself at the front line, sustained a life-threatening amount of damage. The alpha pack insisted that Deaton treat him, and I sided with them, knowing that if Ennis died, Vela’s involvement could start a war.”

“How’s our patient?” the holographic Deucalion asked.

The Deaton in the hologram watched him suspiciously. “Out cold,” he said.

“And the prognosis?” Deucalion pressed, coming closer.

“Surprisingly optimistic,” said Deaton. He pulled off his gloves. “He’s going to make it.”

“Hm,” said Deucalion. He came up to Ennis’s table and reached out, feeling the stitches on Ennis’s chest. His hand moved up to Ennis’s throat and, sleepily, Ennis began rouse slightly. Deaton watched, confused.

Then, Deucalion walked around to the head of the table, putting his hands on either side of Ennis’s head. He leaned down and kissed Ennis once on each cheek. And then, he covered Ennis’s face with his hand and crushed his skull.

That hologram ended without replay.

“Deucalion told his pack that Ennis had been killed on the orders of _your_  pack,” said Morrell. “He created the illusion of a war between packs as an excuse to begin harvesting the powers of the alphas he’d helped create, and, he hopes, the powers of a true alpha as well.”

“But the darach, at least…” said the sheriff. “We know who that is now, “We can stop _her_.”

“Unfortunately, we can’t,” said Deaton. “We only know which Chee it is, not her current holographic identity, and she has not connected to Cheenet since Kali's attack. Without happening upon her, face to face, we have no idea who to direct you toward. We hope, at least, that revealing this knowledge to you will help you know what to look for.”

Braeden shook her head. “But it’s impossible,” she argued. “Physical damage shouldn’t destroy her program limits. She would still be forced into pacifist choices.”

Deaton and Morrell exchanged glances. “It is possible,” Morrell confessed, “that her program is intact.”

Braeden blinked, her mouth hanging open. “Excuse me?”

“We have been considering this issue since discovering that Chee Qezek was the perpetrator,” said Deaton.

“In the modern era, our people have begun to fraction,” Morrell admitted. “A very small portion of us, including myself and Erek King, have come to disagree with non-involvement. We have begun to see that refusal to act, to stand by while good people are hurt and killed and caused to suffer, offering only comfort and medical aid only as far as their own peoples are capable of providing, may, in itself, be violence. Some, like me, have chosen to take a more proactive approach to pacifism, choosing something closer to passive resistance instead of non-involvement.”

“The interesting thing,” said Deaton, “is that while _all_  Chee share the same programming, for most Chee, the programming prohibits this sort of action. And yet, for others like my sister here, it does not.”

Boyd squinted at him. “How is that possible?” he asked.

“Are you sentient?” Lydia asked suddenly. “The sapience is evident, but if you combine that with sentience…”

“We are,” Deaton confirmed. “We are not simple robots. We are androids. We have lives, minds… _souls_  of our own. We are aware of ourselves.”

Lydia nodded, and Allison could see the wheels churning in her mind. “So that’s the key,” said Lydia. “Personality. Personal belief. Rationalization. All the program says is that you can’t be violent, but if the two of you have two different views of what violence _is_ , then you would each experience different limits from the same program,” she explained. “Chee Qezek may _believe_  that she’s helping peace.”

“How?” Sheriff Stilinski demanded. “How the hell do you make that kind of leap?”

“Actually, I may have some insight on that,” said Deaton. “My recent capture gave me a unique experience that is rare for Chee. One that I share with Chee Qezek.”

“You both almost died,” said Stiles.

Deaton nodded. “We were created on an extremely dense planet, and the nature of our constructions causes makes our life spans almost limitless. From the perspective of humans, we are immortal and indestructible,” he said. “When I found myself facing mortality, I… I experienced a shift in perspective which I had never expected. I have thought about this quite a bit, and I… I still do not know what to think myself, but… It brings to mind the words of others.” He looked at the group of them, each in turn. “If you don’t mind, I thought I would share a few of these. Perhaps it will help.”

Suddenly, a teenage Cassie was standing nearby, pulling books out of a locker with a teenage Erek King standing next to her. She slammed her locker in irritation. “Erek!” she said. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, but please shut up.”

She started to walk past him. “I’m trying to make you understand,” he started.

“I understand!” she countered. She looked around at the school hallway, then grabbed his arm and pulled him out the nearest door, behind the school. The hologram moved with them. “You’re upset about what happened. You don’t want to do it again. _Fine_. I get that.

“But you act like you’re the only one who regrets violence. You think I enjoy the taste of blood in my mouth? I have nightmares about the way it feels to snap someone’s spine,” she cried. “But as long as you’ve lived with us, as many human lives as you may have impersonated, you will _never_  be one of us. You will _never_  understand. We don’t choose this life Erek, and there is only one way out it. One life. One human life. That’s all we get. You have no idea… you cannot _process_  what it means to be truly trapped, truly helpless, because you _can’t_  experience that. You will never understand what it means to choose death over enslavement. And, as such, you have no place judging the decisions we make as a result. So please… _shut. up._ ”

Cassie opened the door again and stepped inside. The hologram faded away to another one. They were on a mountain, next to a crevice. They stood over the holographic crevice, feeling ill at the hundred foot drop. On the ledge was Eva and a bloody mountain goat. She was aiming a plastic gun at it. It lowered its head to charge.

They heard a voice, though the speaker wasn’t clear. “I love you,” it said.

Eva’s eyes widened. She hesitated. “The boy!” she whispered. “It’s the boy!”

And then, it rammed her.

She flew backward off the ledge, out of view.

The hologram changed to the very same woman sitting on a crudely constructed park bench in a forest with Erek King. “Doesn’t it bother you?” Erek asked. “That Marco tried to kill you?”

She laughed. “Are you kidding?” she asked. “Seven years. Seven years she had control of me. A goddamn puppet. Nothing more than that, with her hands pulling the strings.” She shook her head. “Seven years, and finally, someone shows up to free me.”

“Kill you,” Erek corrected.

She glanced at him with open disgust. “You be her puppet for seven years and tell me death isn’t freedom,” she snarled. After a moment, her expression softened and her gaze became distant. “I just wish it was anyone but him. I’d lay down the world to take these burdens from his shoulders. This is too much for a child.”

The hologram shifted, and a young boy, younger than Scott, was lying among rubble. Someone was crouched next to him. The boy was missing pieces, and blood was beginning to fill his mouth. The someone was bowed over him, holding his head gently in their lap. “W… wh… why?” the boy asked.

“I can only answer honestly,” said the someone. “And it is not a good answer.”

“Wh… y?” he repeated, struggling not to choke on his own blood.

“Your team was used as a distraction,” said the someone. “Jake gave you this assignment so the Yeerks would focus on your team and not notice the actions of his team.”

The boy was coughing up blood as he struggled to breath. All the while, it pooled around him from his wounds. “Did… Did it… work?” he asked.

“Yes,” said the someone, looking down at him with confusion.

The hologram faded to the forest again. Rachel Berenson was sitting out by a lake. Melissa gasped and clasped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide as she watched Erek King approached Rachel. “You know the mission Jake gave you isn’t the sort you’ll be coming back from?” he said.

She smirked. “Been snooping again?” she taunted. When he said nothing, she said, “Look, I wish we didn’t have to force your hand like this, but we need to end this. Now. People are dying.”

“People will always be dying,” he pointed out. “If it’s not their war, it’s one of yours.”

Rachel shook her head. “Sometimes I forget you’re a machine,” she said with a sneer. “Then shit like that spills out of your mouth.” She looked back over her shoulder at him. “Do you know why people fight wars?” she asked.

Erek shrugged. “Property disputes?” he asked.

She raised to her feet. “I didn’t ask why they were started,” she said. “I asked if you understood why anyone would _fight_  them.”

Erek stood there silently, staring at her with confusion.

She shrugged. “Then I can’t explain to you, Erek, why I’m doing this.”

In the last hologram, a newly adult Jake was sitting across from Marco on a couch, while Marco watched a tiny Scott play with blocks on the floor while the TV blared an educational cartoon. Marco looked morose. Jake looked largely the same as the photos except for his new muscles and his military haircut. “I’m not eager to die, man,” Marco muttered.

Jake laughed. “Well, then I’ve got bad news for you, buddy.” Marco shot him a look, but that only encouraged him. Jake leaned forward and asked, “Do you really want to go in the old folk’s home? Or do you want to matter?”

“I matter to him,” said Marco.

“He’s two,” said Jake. “Cake matters to him.”

“Dude, cake is everything,” Marco objected. “That is a  _horrible_  example.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t Ax,” he said.

Marco snorted at that. “Please. It would’ve been something eventually,” he sneered. He laid back on the couch and sighed. “Is Cassie going?” he asked.

Jake scowled and looked away. “No,” he admitted. “She says the Horks need her.”

Marco smiled. “Yeah… She’s always had more sense than us.”

Jake looked sideways at him. “‘Us’?” he repeated.

The holograms ended.

Slowly, Melissa moved her hand from her mouth. Most of the audience was staring in confusion, but the sheriff nodded, the information presented starting to congeal into a solid idea. “What you’re thinking,” he said, “is that Qezek’s glimpse at mortality didn’t just change her viewpoint on peace and violence. It gave her something to fight, kill, and die for. In her mind, Kali instigated some kind of war, and these deaths are to stop it?”

Morrell nodded, her lips pursed in a thin line. “And we have no idea how to stop her.”


	7. The Ebb, part 3

“Okay, that’s great and all,” said Stiles, “but WHAT THE FUCK WAS ALL THAT?”

“Stiles!” Scott and the sheriff chastised at the same time.

But Stiles shook his head emphatically. “Nope! No, not shutting up this time,” he insisted. “We walk in here, and the first thing _she_  says,” he said, jabbing an accusing finger at Melissa, “is ‘aliens’ and then everybody is like ‘Yep! Aliens!’ like that’s just no big deal? And then there’s kids… kids younger than us, fighting and _dying_.”

“Stiles, please…” Melissa interjected.

“I know who these kids are! These are the Animorphs! This is Los Siete Santos!” Stiles exclaimed, gesturing at Deaton and Morrell to mean the holograms they had been shown. “What the _fuck_  is an Animorph? What happened in Los Siete Santos? Who was puppeting Eva Vela? _How_?”

“Stiles!” Melissa insisted.

“How did Rachel die?” he demanded. “Why were high school kids recruited? Why was that kid blown up? Wha--?”

Braeden quieted him by clamping a hand over his mouth. “Has it not occurred to you that this isn’t about _you_?” she asked. She gave a significant glance toward Melissa, and Stiles turned to see that she had started crying and was being held and comforted by her son.

“Unfortunately,” said Deaton, “we can’t tell you those things, Stiles. According to the limits of our program, we must not divulge the secrets of others without the majority of the secret-holders agreeing that it should be divulged. At this point, the _vast_  majority of those holding the secret of Los Siete Santos are members of the Armed Services. Not only do we believe that they would not agree, but we have no inclination to reveal ourselves to them in order to ask.”

Braeden laughed when Stiles turned to her. “Don’t look at me,” she said. “I _always_  agree with Eva, and right now, she sees no reason why you should know.”

“Is there a reason why we _shouldn’t_  know?” asked Lydia.

“Yes,” Melissa insisted. “Like he said, the military has taken this over. Do you really want to find out what happens when you give away _their_  secrets? I’m sorry, but if all this is only to satisfy curiosity, it is _not_  worth the risk.”

“Well, that’s the big question, isn’t it?” said Allison. “ _Is_  this just about curiosity, or do we _need_  to know about this other thing?”

Melissa glanced to Braeden, who looked surprised. “What?” Braeden asked. “Why me?”

“You’re the one that told me to get out of town,” said Melissa. “ _Are_  my kids in danger?”

“Oh! Sorry,” Braeden said, grimacing apologetically. “No, we’ve worked that out. Tyler Metzger is responsible for the trauma to Harris’s ear. He’s an authorized Y-hunter. The trauma is from him…” She glanced at the kids. “Uh… taking care of the problem. Getting Harris’s control back. The whole ‘you’re in danger’ scene at the school was just to get Harris alone, and it was their unfortunate luck that Metzger had been right.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” said Stiles. “Control? Ears? It’s body-snatching aliens, isn’t it?”

“Stiles!” the sheriff snapped at his son. Then… “God, I can’t believe I’m saying this…” He turned back to Braeden. “ _Do_  I have to worry about body-snatching aliens?”

Braeden laughed. “I’m afraid I can’t say anything about ‘body-snatching aliens,’” she said as though it were a joke, “but, as for those who attacked Los Siete Santos… It’s Tyler’s job to seek out remnants and destroy them.” She shrugged. “In regards to that specific issue… Wherever Tyler is is actually the safest place to be.”

\-- --

Chris Argent suddenly stopped in his tracks in the kitchen doorway. “Did you just put a slug in the blender?” he asked Tyler.

“What?” said Tyler. “I’m going to clean it.”

“That’s not a ‘No,’” Chris drawled.

Tyler rolled his eyes. “I have dietary issues,” he muttered, turning on the blender.

“Dietary issues?” Chris repeated.

“It’s a very special slug,” Tyler assured him with a smirk. “Very hard to find these days.”

Chris shook his head and left the kitchen. “I’m buying a new blender, and you’re not allowed to touch it!” he called back.

Tyler watched him go, his confident smirk melting away into a sneer of disgust. He turned the blender off. “God, I hate this planet,” he groaned.

\-- --

“Okay, but…” Stiles insisted in his parked Jeep. “Body-snatching aliens, Scott!”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Look, I know the Chee thing is…” He wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence. “But Braeden thought your guess was _hilarious_. It seems pretty obvious it’s not body snatching aliens.”

Stiles crossed his arms angrily and shoved his shoulders back into his seat. “Your mom didn’t think it was hilarious,” he pointed out.

“That’s because she’s worried sick that the government's gonna put us in Guantanamo or something,” Scott said. “And I… I don’t want her to keep worrying.”

Stiles glanced at him. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“Stiles, _everyone_  involved in that says we don’t need to know,” Scott said. “And there is _so_  much else to worry about right now, and honestly? I just don’t care about Marco. I can’t even care about Cassie; if she wants to be gone, she can go be gone. Mom is _here_. She’s always been here. And I love her too much to throw it all away for… what? They’re right, man. We were just curious. We’ve got no business sticking our noses in military business.” He opened the door of the Jeep to get out.

“Are you serious?” Stiles demanded.

Scott sighed and turned to his best friend. “Stiles… What would you do if it was your dad? Not just asking you to stay out of it, because he always says that. But your dad who was _scared_  for you. Your dad who thought the military might break up your family forever at a moment’s notice just because you were being nosey.”

Stiles glowered at his steering wheel.

Scott hopped out of the Jeep and turned to Stiles once again. “Look, I’m not gonna make you stop or throw out the project,” he said. “But I don’t want to know anything about it. I’m not participating anymore.”

Stiles nodded stiffly, and Scott shut the door and went inside his house.

\-- --

A knock at the door of the room she'd taken as her office roused Agrona’s attention. She looked up from her iPad to see her granddaughter standing in the doorway, pouting at the floor with her shoulders slumped. “Allison?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Grandma,” she started, quietly, “you said… You said that you had no secrets. That I could ask you about anything.”

Agrona nodded and gestured to the small couch across from her desk chair. “Of course,” she said. “Come in, sit.”

Shyly, Allison entered, then hesitated. After a moment, she turned and shut the door before continuing on to the couch. Agrona raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing. Finally, still not looking her in the eyes, Allison said, “What happened to Uncle David… was that in Los Siete Santos?”

“It was,” Agrona answered patiently.

“So… do you know what happened to the city?”

Agrona carefully considered her answer before responding, “I’m not sure I have the entire picture, to be honest, but… yes, I was there.”

Allison looked up at her. “So what happened?” she asked.

Agrona’s eyebrows arched slightly. “Can I ask why you want to know?” she asked.

Allison’s eyes darted toward the door. “I’m not…” she started. Then, she shook her head. “I think… I think there’s a connection of some kind between Scott and that city. The things that happened there. And everyone who knows anything keeps saying it doesn’t matter. That it can’t hurt him anymore. But…” Her gaze returned to her grandmother again, and her eyes had become sad and desperate. “But how can I _know_  that if I don’t know anything?”

Agrona nodded. “I can see why you’d be concerned,” she said. “And I do want to be open and honest with you, I’m just… not sure that you really…”

“Is it aliens?” Allison asked, spitting it out suddenly.

Agrona’s eyebrows raised higher that time. Then, she gave a small laugh. “I should have known better than to underestimate you,” she said. She nodded. “Yes, Allison, it was aliens.”

“Was it body-snatching aliens?”

“Yes,” said Agrona. “It was body-snatching aliens.”

“Oh god…” Allison buried her head in her hands. “I don’t…”

Agrona reached out carefully and slowly lowered Allison’s hands, clutching them firmly. When Allison finally looked up at her again, Agrona smiled with a patient sympathy. “Maybe we should start at the beginning…” she suggested.

\-- --

“Isaac?” said Scott, knocking on the door of the guest bedroom.

Isaac looked up from his Geometry textbook with concern. “What’s up?” he asked.

“I, uh…” Scott picked at the wood of the doorframe nervously. “I wanted to know if… if you were mad at me…?”

Isaac made his usual face of confusion. “Why would I be mad at you?” he asked.

With slow nervousness, Scott made his way to the bed and sat there on the edge of it. Isaac swallowed and set down his math book. Not really looking at Isaac, Scott explained, “Because… Because getting Braeden and Eva involved got the alphas thinking your pack was involved with them and that almost got Boyd killed.”

“Okay, but the reason why Boyd _wasn’t_  killed was because you got Braeden and Eva involved,” said Isaac. “Besides, they were involving themselves before you ever did.”

“I know, but…”

“Scott,” Isaac interrupted. “It’s fine. Really.”

Scott glanced at him uncertainly. “It doesn’t feel fine,” he said honestly.

Isaac watched him carefully. “Yeah, there’s… something… could be… finer,” he stumbled.

It wasn’t really clear who kissed who. Some time later, however, it was Scott who shut the door.

\-- --

Bored, Lydia tossed her Latin book aside. Something was gnawing at her. Something about the other room.

Well, ignoring it obviously wasn’t going to stop it. She got up and headed across the hall, unlocking the door, which she’d started locking since their maid had first tried to “straighten up” the room, not realizing the mess was on purpose.

She picked a few printouts up from the dresser, sighed, and put them back. Moving to the bed, she picked up Ms. McCall’s yearbook again and thumbed through it. For now, though, she had all the information she could get from it. They knew four of the suspected “animorphs” to be Marco Guerra, Jake Berenson, Rachel Berenson, and Cassandra Sosanya. There were a few unphotographed students that may or may not have filled the remaining two slots, but none of their names appeared on the list of grave rubbings. So either they weren’t connected or they weren’t dead, which wasn’t much information in itself.

Ms. McCall had once been a Miss Chapman, with a father who was her high school's vice principal. They didn’t look close, but they didn’t look angry, either. All of Melissa’s pictures were sad and lonely, even with her gymnastics team. Even while holding a trophy. Scott had explained earlier that she had depression, which was now being treated, but Lydia had also noted that her parents were not in the trophy picture.

She tossed the book down and turned to the photographic timelines that Allison had put up of children being ruined. Something is wrong in that forest.

The thought hit her out of nowhere. But it was, right, she realized. Something _was_  wrong with the forest. What was wrong with it? She stepped closer, grabbing a magnifying glass off the the dresser as she passed. The closer she got, the more and more certain she became. There is something in the forest.

Standing at the front of the picture was Rachel, posing with her arm on Cassie’s shoulder, grinning proudly while Cassie forced a small, sad, much less certain smile for the camera. But Lydia wasn’t looking at them. She was looking past them, into the trees. There is something wrong in the trees.

She raised the magnifying glass, and the image practically jumped out at her. She shrieked and jumped back, dropping the magnifying glass on the floor. “Kanima!” she gasped.

Then…

“Wait,” she realized. “No, it isn’t!”

Angrily, Lydia grabbed the hour glass back up and glared accusing through it at the photo. At the large, bladed, beaked lizard in the tree, unnoticed by the subjects of the photo. At the shadows in the canopy hinting at even more of them. “What are you?” she whispered.


End file.
